Saturday, February 18, 2012

I ventured into the cosmetics department of Myer the other day to pick up some Shadow Insurance (yes, this is a beauty product and not a life policy for assassins) and the extremely talented make-up artist proceeded to pile on random eye products on my face. Totally fine by me, but found it absolutely hilarious that she described every look as "rock star".

She was a lovely lady and I ended up spending a huge amount of dosh on cutely named beauty products, but I wish sales assistants would realise that just because I carry headphones and wear Docs doesn't mean I want to look like this:

* Do realise she is more of a pop star than a rock star, but you get the gist.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Part of my jobs requires looking up beauty blogs and make-up tips... Along with other things like celebrity gossip, fashion trends and trivia. Yes, I know my job doesn't sound very legit but it really is.

On my exciting, bimbo-esque Internet travels, I came across this rather insulting make-up tip post. It's called 'Make Up Tips For Round Faces', and the title is pretty explanatory. An entire article devoted to supposedly helping cherub-faced women overcome their apparent defects.

As the owner of a very round face, I was a bit perplexed by the fact that the whole post was to teach us women to hide our shame. Perhaps some of the tips were useful tidbits of advice that can be applied to any girl, but the phrase "mask the disproportions of the face"? I'm sorry, my face is out of proportion now?

The most curious thing was the round-faced girls in the article were Devon Aoki, Lily Cole and Gemma Ward - all absolutely gorgeous, Kewpie-like supermodels. Yup. Great examples of why being round-faced is bad, hey?

P.S. I should also add that the author also assumed that all girls with round faces need to hide their shameful double chins.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

I recently moved in with my boyfriend. It's great. It get to wake up next to his gorgeous face and go to sleep lying next to his hot body. We don't have to spend ludicrous amounts of time travelling just to see each other. The furthest I have to travel to see him is now six seconds it takes me to walk from the bathroom to the living room.

The only problem is that I've now gone from being his cute, sexy girlfriend who he sees every few days hanging about in lacy lingerie... to his everyday girlfriend wearing daggy cotton undies and doing the dishes. Now I feel like I have to counteract mundane activities like cutting my nails and vacuuming with looking super hot all the time. Bah, first world problems.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

I dyed my hair bright orange a couple of months ago. When I say bright orange, think Kate Winslet in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Mila Jovovich in Fith Element or the leading babe in Run Lola Run. B-r-i-g-h-t orange.

My birthday is in two days time, and I'll officially be in my mid-twenties. I feel absolutely old. (Yes, I can also practically hear all of you rolling your eyes in unison... but bear with me.)

My early twenties were completely exhausting when I think about it. I had finished high school and had just graduated from university. I was still testing the waters of life and didn't know what exactly I wanted to do. Evidence? I worked as an official graduation hat putter-on-er, a lollipop lady, a retail sales assistant and a diamond washer for a jewellery company. I didn't know what I wanted to do but I did know that I had to keep busy to get anywhere in life. There was one point were I worked five jobs at once and lost about ten kilos just from running around. Everyone told me that I was young so I could burn the candles at both ends.

But now things are different. I've figured out that social media marketing is a good career choice for me. (Who knew that I could be paid to combine my writing skills and my obsession with Twitter?) I have a secure job. I have an awesome man who I will be living with in a few weeks time. I have a credit card. I go to Sunday barbeques with people who have kids. Half my friends are married. I'm already thinking about my financial future and investment properties.

I kind of want to come home from work and just fucking relax. I don't want to be writing random blog posts because I have hundreds of publicists bothering me. I don't want free tickets to a gig at the expense of my enjoyment and having to spend the next night busily writing something up. I don't want to have to reply to about seventy to a hundred emails every night about random crap. Or always having something at the back of my mind.

I'm at the stage that not only do I not want to burn the candle at both ends, I don't want the candle at all. I want a fucking light switch. With a clapper. So I don't have to get up.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Saturday, July 16, 2011

I'm pretty sure the word "boyfriend" can be used as a synonym for the following words: best friend, cheerleader (cheerleaders can be male too), supporter, comedian, compadre, baking partner, travel companion, shrink, band mate, business advisor and confidant.

Okay... I'll shut up now because you probably just threw up in your mouth a little.